Fire and Ice: The 127th Games
by odairsmyotp
Summary: *closed* Fire and Ice. Panem et Circenses. The Capitol has reigned, the Districts have obeyed, and the tributes will fight. But at what cost? Their lives, or their patriotism? Whatever the cost, the outcome will be deadly.
1. The Begining

Introduction|| **The Begining**

* * *

"Some say the world will end in fire

Some say in ice

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire

But if I had to perish twice

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice."

A shrill applause rose from the manicured hands of the Capitol citizens, who sat in violet plush chairs at a lounge in the Capitol square, listening to high school students recite poetry.

"Oh!" Cried Windsor, smacking her palms together to the point where they were starting to ache. She had enough knowledge to conclude that this poem was centuries old and contained a great meaning, but naturally she took it the wrong way.

"That's brilliant! Brilliant!" Excitement gathered in her surgically tiny stomach. Windsor was a gamemaker, one of the best at her job. _I could totally tie this poem in with the upcoming games!_ No descisions for the 127th games had been finalized, giving Windsor a great opportunity to exclaim her thoughts. She went over them in her head.

_What if the games were, perchance, based on all tribute's individual elemental hell? What destruction would become of them? _But most importantly, Windsor thought, _How much more ratings will we get with this twist?_

The next morning, Windsor was so excited for the games meeting later that afternoon, that she forcibly puked herself to try to settle her stomach's butterflies.

The meeting, of course, came and went, her idea approved of, as always. The Capitol, the districts, the tributes. They would all be in for a treat this year.

* * *

**TRIBUTE LIST**

* * *

**District One**

Male: Invictus Mountford, 18

Female: Alexandra Stee Greenhold, 16

**District Two**

Male: Gallus Lex, 16

Female: Heidi Lumai, 17

**District Three**

Male: Arial Dacey, 16

Female: Teaze Volt, 13

**District Four**

Male: Zach Aldwin, 15

Female: Cordelia Del Mar, 18

**District Five**

Male: Paulit Coolsey, 14

Female: Taylor Wert, 18

**District Six**

Male:Gage Caverly, 16

Female: Arait Halemb, 12

**District Seven**

Male: Thorne Greenlaw, 15

Female: Valentine Woods, 17

**District Eight**

Male: Declan Wade, 14

Female: Ashlynn Lovely, 15

**District Nine**

Male: Ash Williams, 15

Female: Corisha 'Cori' Passion, 15

**District Ten**

Male: Lucien Frillo, 17

Female: Ivy Dighe, 13

**District Eleven**

Male: Oak Xell, 18

Female: Zaphrina Harriet Xell, 16

**District Twelve**

Male: Ambrose Nolan, 18

Female: Anwen Reese, 13

* * *

DISCLAIMER:

I do not own THG in any way at all, neither do I own this Robert Frost poem.

To answer a few unasked questions, I'm not doing a sponser system.

Finally, isn't this great? The tribute list is completely full, and now the games are to begin! *cackles* **Happy Hunger Games!**


	2. A Reoccuring Demise

Reaping || **A Reoccuring Demise**

* * *

**Gallus Lex, 16, District 2**

* * *

Even in my dream state, I know that when I wake up, I'll be more than displeased. Dreams can really affect the way your day starts.

In this particular dream, I stand in the gym, more commonly known as 'The Training Room'. I wear a deep blue athletic shirt with black shorts and gray sneakers, and in my hand is carrying nothing. My hands should be holding a bow, loading an arrow at the dummy fifteen feet away from me. Instead, the bow and arrow lies beside the dummy. Fifteen feet away.

My feet are glued to the ground and I can't move. I can't reach the bow.

Frustration molds into tight knots located in my stomach. Why won't my feet move? Why am I stuck? Then, frustration intertwines with a shot of sudden anxiety. I can't move, I can't move. To my hatred, I am stuck for seconds longer until I am granted the ability to move. A grin spreads across my face, and I hear a rhythmic beeping in the background. I go to retrieve the bow, but then the dummy flies at me, and turns my vision into a coat of pure black.

I shoot up, sitting upright on my bed. Faintly I hear the same beeping noise that was in my dream to my left. It takes me a second to get my bearings and realize that yes, that is my alarm clock. I pound my fist on 'stop' button, barely noticing the 8:00 timing. That means the reaping will start in roughly an hour. Which also means that I need to get ready.

I hastily slip on some of my fancier clothes, and dash down the steps, grabbing a granola bar that lies astray on a granite countertop in the kitchen. As I eat, I watch my brother Tyronius, who is a year older than me, head out the door.

"Any plans for today?" I hear my mom's kind voice say behind me. I whirl around. Her eyes meet my blue ones. I give a casual smile. When my mom was eligible to participate in the games, she was so eager to volunteer. She had trained, and trained, but that effort never paid off. She never got a chance to volunteer, as she wanted.

She'll be happy to see me picking up where she left off.

I shrug. "You'll see," I say, though it must be obvious. Of course I have plans. Those plans are to volunteer and win the games. By then, I'll have gained honour and respect from my district.

I throw the granola bar wrapper out, just in time to hear a knock at the door. I go to open it, and am greeted by two of my friends- Del and Gaither. "Where's Montez?" I ask, though I'm not sure how much I really care. "He's not coming with us," Del answers me, "he went for last-minute training today and is going to reaping on his own." _Overachiever,_ I think, trying to hold back a sneer.

The three of us walk until we've reached the square. We find our places in the sixteen year olds section, and wait for the rest of the district citizens to scramble in. A few minutes later, our escort appears on the stage, and begins what I think is a speech. From seeing her, I notice how she's tipping to the right, and how her arms slap against the sides of her hips with a harsh momentum. She's clumsy. That would be an awful trait to have, should she get into a fight.

"Welcome everybody! Nice to see you again!" Her green hair flops around, and she teeters again. "Today I'm going to break tradition and start with the boys!" I feel myself tense.

She bounds to the bowl of male names and sharply picks one out. She reads the name, but I don't remember it. I only had the time to shout, "I volunteer!", and leap up to the stage in my rightly earned place.

* * *

**Ashlynn Lovely, 15, District 8**

* * *

I wake up to a soft voice.

"Ashlynn!" The voice whispers, tenderly shaking my shoulders. I peek an eye open and see my mother. Both eyes open and I smile. She brushes stray pieces of my blond hair behind my ear. "Get up," she urges kindly, "I'm making you a special breakfast this morning!" Mom then exits my large bedroom and saunders to the kitchen.

I groan a bit, and swing my legs over my queen sized bed, shaking off my white comforter. My feet hit the wooden floors hard, and they slide effortlessly over to my closet. After a thorough inspection of what my closet had to offer, I pick out a subtle green dress that I have matching shoes for. My hands reach into my jewelry box, and I pick out a gold necklace and ring, and place them on. My look feels like it should be complete, but I still have to curl my hair.

The bathroom connected to my room displays a wide mirror, reflecting my face as I enter. I peer into the mirror, spying familiar blue eyes, pale skin, and roots that are a light brown. I guess I need to dye my hair again.

I pick up a hot pink curler off of the bathroom counter and twirl it through blond locks, flying through my everyday routine of curling my hair. I take on a certain proudness as I set the curler back down, and getting a good glimpse at what I've done for my hair. It feels like creating artwork, using a curler. It looks like artwork, too. The girls my age probably wouldn't know.

It literally pays to be the mayor's daughter.

Feeling ready for the day, I prance to the dining room, where pancakes with real, drizzled maple syrup awaits. My mom sits in the chair across from where I should be sitting. Instead, I sigh. "I'm going to have to skip breakfast today, mom," I say, "You can just eat my pancakes and make more for me tomorrow!" I smile graciously, then continue to the front door, my hair bouncing on my shoulders as I go.

My kitten heels feel cool as I slip them on my feet, and my clutch purse feels light in my hands. _It's nice being so made up today_, I think, as I swipe on pink lip gloss that was residing in my clutch.

"See you in the square!" I shout in a loud manner at mom. She replies back, but I don't listen. Instead, I walk outdoors, slam the door shut, and head for the square, which is a very short walk from home. But through people pulling me aside to greet me, it takes me longer than I would have hoped to actually make it there.

I slide in with the rest of the fifteen year olds, and find myself standing beside an obnoxiously happy girl. "I love your dress!" She exclaims, pointing at the green fabric. My lips curl into a smirk. "Makes sense, seeing how it's the same colour as your skin," I remark, then turn my face away, but not before seeing her disappointed frown.

Before I can dwell on that little scenario, District 8's escort's voice blares into my ears. "Hello, hello!" She greets us, blowing kisses to the seemingly unimpressed crowd."Now that I have your attention, it's time to name our female tribute!" She bounces on the balls of her feet and giggles. Ugh. Her personality is worse than that girl's.

As she sticks a lavender dyed hand into the bowl, fright becomes evident in my body. What if she picks me? Actually, is it even possible for the child of the mayor to go into the games? Can they actually do that?

My questions become answered when the escort reads, "Ashlynn Lovely!"

A dizzying pound knocks around in my forehead, and I feel the same fright consume me. This is happening. I just got reaped. I have to go to the stage now. I have to go.

Thankfully, a vital piece of information hits me. Tributes that look weak? They become an easy target. For _everyone._ And I won't go down for being misjudged as an easy target.

My head clears, and I bring a smile to face. Not a sadistic one, but a happy one, as if I'm genuinely enjoying this. I walk with an eager stride, and I toss my hair over my shoulder. I make sure to sway my hips a bit, and look as casual and normal as possible.

So when I reach the stage and the escort looks at me and says, "Wow! You, Ashlynn, are a brave young girl!", I nod with a spreading smile. My cheeks start to hurt, but I want to keep up the act. For a kick, I say, "You'll find no better tribute than me!"

* * *

**Zaphrina Harriet Xell, 16, District 11**

* * *

Me and my brothers tie our shoes behind the doors of our small home. It's kind of a thing we do when it comes to the reaping- wait for each other to get ready. Leave together. Come home together. It's moreso a confidence boost, a reminder that we always have each other's back, no matter if the inevitable happens and one of us gets reaped.

I'm the first one to finish putting on my shoes. Looking at them, I guess they go with my plain blue dress. Not that I care primarily about fashion.

I glance at Thread and Oak, who shoot jokes at each other, like today is any other day. Thread is my age, with a quiet wisdom to him. Oak is 18, and while he's smart too, he's loud and reckless sometimes. Bark, my oldest brother, bounds up as he finishes tying his shoes. He's 19, so thankfully none of us in the family have to worry about him as much anymore.

"Let's get _going_," Oak pronounces, and swings the front door open wide. We all trail out, Thread being last.

"Two more years of this, Zaphrina," says Bark, joining my side, and patting my back from an angle, "and no more." I snort. ''Really?" I say, sarcasm embedding my voice, "Is that what I've been taught my whole life? That you have no chance of being reaped after 18?" I feign confusion. "This is serious news."

Bark tsks jokingly, and we continue heading for the square. I give the occasional death glare at people, and spot some people cowering at the sight of me and my brothers. Well, we've certainly made our impact on the people of District 11.

When we get to the place of the reapings, me and Thread go into the section with the other kids our age. I don't acknowlege any of them. Instead I comb my fingers through my curly brown hair that balances on my shoulders. After a couple minutes pass, I feel a light nudge in my ribs. I turn to face Thread, who looks a bit guilty. Then, he points to the podium. "They're starting."

My attention goes toward a silver eyed girl who stands atop the stage, purple hair tumbling to ground, and golden tattoos shimmering with her every movement. "Hello, District 11!" She shouts, clapping. I don't recognize her a single bit. "Let me introduce myself! I'm your new escort, Saffron Wither!" Her Capitol accent fills the air along with her silly trills.

"I'd love to converse more with you, but we need to start! We'll begin with the ladies!" Her heels click as she stands before the bowl of female names. Daintily, she captures a name between her fingers and pulls it out.

"Zaphrina Harriet Xell!" My jaw goes slack. I look to Thread, whose face is ashen. He nods fiercely. Then, I see Oak. His eyes tell me to get up on the stage. Show Panem that I've got this. That I will win it.

I glare at the escort, and as I take my place on the podium, I snarl at the cameras. People who carry sympathetic looks earn themselves a hiss as well.

"Now for the gentlemen!" I look at Oak. Thread. Bark. They look intensely proud and confident. I copy their expressions.

The escort, Saffron, clears her throat. "Oak Xell!" My eyes threaten to buldge, face threatens to fall. I purse my lips and maintain my arrogant display, and Oak mirrors it as he mounts the stage, and heads to stand beside me.

One of us will win. I'm sure of it. This is not the confidence speaking. This is knowledge, and we will win.

* * *

**Ambrose Nolan, 18, District 12**

* * *

I give up any hope for our tributes this year when the thirteen year old female tribute bursts into tears before even treading the stage. It's not even like sponsors will pick her for her looks. She's got black hair, pale skin and blue eyes that look darker against the teary red. District 12 has no chance. I believe that thoroughly.

Our escort is a man named Gavril who looks decently normal compared to past escorts. He has red hair and has matching lipstick and shoes. Decently normal.

Gavril literally hops to the male tribute bowl. "Let's see who our male tribute will be this year!" Maybe he'll be more impressive than the girl tribute, at the least. Gavril fixes his hair, then clears his throat. "The male tribute is... Ambrose Nolan!" Confusion encircles my thoughts. Me?

I wait a couple beats too long. "Is there an Ambrose Nolan?" Gavril asks timidly. "Over here!" An omniscent voice calls from behind me. I whirl around and glare at everyone, not finding the culprit. Giving up, I groan.

I raise a calloused hand. "Right here. Don't wait up for me." I feel a mask of annoyance layer on my face. I can't believe I was picked. How hard would it have been to evade one last reaping before being granted the slightest bit of _freedom? _This is ridiculous. Sighing, I stand on the stage, keeping my distance from the weeping 'Anwen' girl, if that was her name.

Somewhere in the ground, I spot my mother. Her gray eyes look at me with an eternal sadness. She looked like that too, when dad died. Regret and longing rise inside me. I regret my conversation with mom this morning. I long to be home.

What I said to mom earlier today, I really shouldn't have. She was trying to be nice. It was around 10, and mom and I sat at our small coffee table. She looked up from a ripped book, and exclaimed, "Today's your last reaping!" A smile had lit her face, and she glowed. Instead of returning that smile, I said this: "My last reaping as in the last time I'm eligible for the games? Or as in, if I'm reaped, the last time I'll be alive to witness another reaping?" My sarcasm bit into her joyful mood. Her smile faltered.

I had even said, "Don't give your hopes up." I should take my own advice.

Now standing on the podium, looking out towards all the people in my district, I think _Damn. I better pull through for these games. _I don't want to end up with a tribute's reoccuring demise. I don't want to die in the games.

I don't want to die.

* * *

I've been grieving over the fact that, 1. You can't use tab on your ff stories. 2. I don't have spell check. Spell check is seriously important for me. I NEED IT.

Anways, this chapter is over 2,000 words. Be happy about, because I am.

Lastly, I'd love to read reviews. Tell me your thoughts, critiscm, and what you liked. Also, I'm thinking about doing a question for every chapter? Is that a good idea?|

See you next chapter, _**odairsmyotp.**_


	3. Chapter 3 SNEAK PEAK

**~SNEAK PEAK~ The rest of this chapter will be uploaded another time.**

* * *

**Windsor Chapelin, 37, Gamemaker**

* * *

Looking into my tiny compact mirror, I see a confident purple-tinged smile and glowing cheeks. I can thank my makeup for that.

Today may as well steal the title as being one of the most anticipated days of my life, although most people in my position would probably find it to be the most stressful. However, I feel completely ready for the reapings today. Reapings are a special occasion in my quaint family. Nine years ago my son Ethan was born, and throughout his early childhood, we used to watch the reapings (and the games) together all day long, nestled on our ratty brown couch that had more than one hole in it. But then I scored my job as Gamemaker and suddenly I had no free hours to spend with my son. Instead, I was granted deep pockets which could afford more plush velvet loveseats than necessary. It sounds a bit selfish, but I would rather the deep pockets than family time. It gives me and Ethan a good reputation.

Naturally, Ethan always whines about not seeing me enough. With every complaint comes his blue puppy-eyes, sometimes accompanied by spilling tears. I just don't think he's old enough to understand the influence and necessity of status.

I comb my silver hair back and flatten my pink dress. I close my compact, and slide it into my yellow clutch. I wish I would have had more time to perfect my look, but I'm already nearly late and have to get going. My job needs me. Twenty minutes later, I find myself seated at the main headquarters for the planning and organizing of the games, just past the Capitol Square.

Middle aged people sit in gray, swiveling chairs all around me. "District One reapings start in thirty minutes!" I squeal to no one in particular, after checking my gold watch. Cheers erupt behind me, and the vast room fills with impatience. I love the commotion that comes with reaping day! "Are there cameras in every justice building?" I asked, feeling my voice chime loudly.

A co-worker of mine with grossly subtle brown hair nodded. His orange eyes flickered. "The cameras are all set up and in tact. I'll be turning them on individually through the computer immediatley after each seperate districts tributes have been reaped." The corners of lips twist up. "Great," I exclaim, feeling an immense relief. We were trying a new tactic this year. There was no room for failure.

I let my eyes wander, and noticed that the others in this room had started making predictions for these games. "District 6 tributes have died consecutively for 7 years on the first day of the games. I imagine they'll die off again on the first day this season too." Someone inquires. I pitch in, "Maybe, but I think the district 10 tributes will go. They've never been tough competition."

"C'mon everyone," groans the really subtle guy, "are you going to ignore the likelyhood of District 12's death this year? They never make it!" I laugh, as does the rest of the people cooped up in this plain room. I don't mind this person, whoever he is. Although someone needs to tell him that blue hair would suit him much more nicely. It would also contrast his fiery orange eyes.

Time begins flying by, and it's a nice feeling. I assume everyone feels this happy on the reaping day, but it's still satisfactory to dwell in the friendly atmosphere. I then take another peek at my gold watch. "Ten minutes! Ten minutes!" The reapings are already starting so quickly!

Around the room, I hear shouts of affirmation in regards to the cameras in the justice buildings being turned on and working properly. This new twist is super exciting! Anyone could thank me for coming up with the idea.

The thing is, is that every tribute's goodbyes are being taped. We'll be airing the interesting parts of the goodbyes straight after the district's reapings. However, when tributes watch the recaps of the reapings, they will not be shown the goodbyes of anyone. Not even their own farewell's. That would unfair to show such vital information off. But there is an exception. When the Victor has their first after-games interview, the full footage of their goodbyes will be shown. As well as the goodbyes of the Victor's competition that may have affected or continue to affect them most.

It's manipulative, but it's also a one-time thing. We'll see if our audience preferred seeing the emotional goodbyes and reapings to just the reapings, but even if they love it, us gamemakers, distributors and organizers of this reality show will never tape any more goodbyes again.

Which leaves District citizens with the right amount of suspicion of our future plans. That is how us gamemakers like to keep the Districts- on their toes.

* * *

In case it wasn't clear enough, this is a **sneak peak** only. I'm putting it up here to show that I am active here, it has just been a bit difficult finding time to finish writing this chapter. I still have 2 more tribute POV's to write (I've written 2 already, and then there is this Gamemaker POV).

I just wanted to make sure you guys know I haven't given up on this. I don't want that suspicion.

Also, this is edited, so you won't see any changes when it's reposted along with the rest of the Justice Building chapter. Last, but not least, I wouldn't bother reviewing, and this will be deleted as soon as the full chapter is posted. Thanks for your patience!

See you next chapter, **odairsmyotp.**


End file.
